“Win.” Caleb says my name like a plea.
A small laugh breaks through.
“Win!”
“Okay, I’m sorry! I just, I don’t think she’d be mean about this. When you put on the knight’s armour in Bo’s closet, she seemed kind of into it, actually.”
Caleb mutters something under his breath.
“Come again?”
He repeats himself, still not enunciating clearly.
I roll my eyes. “Dude, what?”
“I’m not a knight, okay? I’m the… I’m the bard.”
“Bard? Like a poet-musician guy?”
Caleb blinks, his eyebrows crawling up his forehead. “Yes, actually. I’m surprised you know that.”
“So what? You—you sing? What is this game?”
“Sort of. I have magical powers that I harness with… song.”
I cover my mouth, but not in time.
“Win!”
“I’m sorry! It’s funny! You have to hear how fucking funny that sounds.”
“See? This is why—”
“Yeah, okay! I understand. I won’t make fun of you. But I do have to go meet the other guys now, okay? It’s bad enough that you’re keeping them waiting. They—they,” my laughter interrupts me, “they might need your magical singing powers.”
Caleb, resigned and exhausted, throws his arms up in the air and stomps down the hall. I follow shortly behind, already pulling out my phone to text Sarah.
ME: Come to Bo’s now! Caleb is here. Lying NERDS.
It’s not my best text, but it’ll have to do, because I ran out of hallway between me and the group of guys in the dining room. Their conversation comes to an abrupt end when I walk in. Bo looks between Caleb and me, shaking his head and wearing a shit-eating grin.
“Hi, everyone,” I say, approaching the edge of the table cautiously, admiring the map laid out in the middle and the men around it.
Next to a sulking Caleb is an older gentleman who reminds me of a sturdy English bulldog in his stout posture, jowled face, and keenness in his expression. At the head of the table is Bo, who’s lining up game pieces with a concentrated expression, and to my left, across from Caleb and the older man, are three more guys.
The one closest to Bo has dark brown skin, a kind but apprehensive smile, short black hair, and a lean frame. The other two seem to be a couple—based on the proximity of their chairs and the hand the man closest to me has placed on the other man’s thigh. They’re both broad and muscular. One of them has golden tanned skin and long brown hair, and the other has a pale complexion and a clean-shaven head.
“I’m Win,” I say, raising my left hand to wave. “I won’t get in your way, but I just wanted to say—”
“Well, aren’t you stunning?” the older man says in a thick Scottish accent. He stands, wearing a beaming grin, then makes his way around the back of Caleb’s chair toward me. “Bo said you were, lass, but I dinna believe him.”
I giggle, putting out a hand to shake as he extends his own.
“I’m Hamish, but you can call—”
“All right, that’s enough,” Bo says, standing straighter and crossing his arms, towering over the table. “C’mon, man…” He chuckles breathlessly. “I distinctly remember telling you to be cool.”
The stout man presses his lips together in a cheeky, mischievous grin. “Sorry,” he says in a not-Scottish but entirely Canadian accent. “I like to test out my characters on new people. Did I have you fooled?”
“Totally,” I laugh out, my face briefly turning toward Bo with a bemused grin.
“Walter,” he says, reaching out for my hand, dragging my attention back to him.
I shake his hand. “Lovely to meet you, Walter.”
“You too.” He winks at me, his face adorably jolly. “And you seem to know the man who returned to the table looking like you kneed him in the crown jewels, but have you met…” Walter gestures to the opposite side of the table with an open palm.
“Adamir,” the shyer one next to Bo says, extending his hand across the table and knocking down a few game pieces in his path. Bo immediately begins fixing them.
“Hi, Adamir,” I say in a reassuring tone. “Great to meet you.”
“Jeremiah, but you can call me Jer,” the buff one next to Adamir says, extending his hand. “And this is my husband, Kevin.”
“Good to meet you both,” I say, shaking both of their hands. A small apology in my eyes each time, knowing they most likely feel the sensation of curled fingers tickling their palms as our hands part. At least handshakes are typically a one-time thing.
“I do have to say that you are glowing,” Kevin says, his hand curled under his chin. “Let me ask you—we have a bet going. When you met Bo, were you in a particularly dark room? Or are you just a very kind, charitable soul?”
Bo laughs from the end of the table, crossing his hands over his chest, a tilt of pride to his chin.
“It was a very well-lit room,” I say with a quick wink to Bo. “Too bad I didn’t get to know him first, though.”
They all get a kick out of that one.
“I like her,” Walter says, jabbing his elbow into Bo as he returns to his seat.
“Me too, oddly enough," Bo says, his eyes tracing me from head to toe. The way he says it is so sincere and raw, you’d think that he’d choose to have me here rather than be forced by our circumstance. I feel the sentiment lock itself away in the hollow of my chest, like kindling being placed into a wood-burning stove.
Preparing to say my farewell, I take another glance around the room. I can’t help but notice how odd of a group this is and long to know what brought them all together. What pieces of Bo they know of, and whether they’d be willing to share them with me. “So, how did you all meet?” I ask no one in particular.
“I met Bo in a support group. Matching cancers, I’m afraid,” Walter tuts. “But both of us are still kicking—though some kick better than others these days. I’ve still got both legs.” Walter barely gets the joke out before he begins laughing—a wheezing, happy one that I really enjoy.
Bo bites his lip, shaking his head with a slowly unfurling smile.
“He’s been waiting to tell that joke,” Bo says, watching me with an attentive focus as he bends across the table and places dice in front of Caleb. He’s enjoying me meeting his people, I realise. He’s deciding whether I fit. Do I fit?
“Bo and I met at Waterloo,” Adamir says, putting up two fingers to signal his turn to speak like he’s currently in class. “Bo was the TA in my freshman year economics course.”
Professor Bo? I could be into it. Yep—I checked with downstairs management. I am.
“Bo and I work together,” Jeremiah says simply.
“Jer is my boss,” Bo adds, placing a token on the table. “He’s trying to be humble, but he’s the head guy in charge.”
“Right, well, sure. But here I’m just your coworker, friend, and,” he picks up an imaginary sword from his belt, “warrior,” he says dramatically, slashing his sword down.